


The Rabbit Prince

by StarMaple



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M, Magic, bunnylock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaple/pseuds/StarMaple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time there was a clever boy named Sherlock who was rude to everyone... until he was rude to a witch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rabbit Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stitchnik](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Stitchnik).



The lovely Stitchnik has created art for the story here: http://media.tumblr.com/9f758f8f84bc03a1ce9421d4c8a1d489/tumblr_inline_ms7xo1XmPK1qz4rgp.png

Once upon a time, in a united kingdom far away there lived a prince named Sherlock. He was a curious boy, and almost as soon as he was old enough to form the words declared that there was no greater thing in the world than to know all the secrets of nature and that he would dedicate himself wholeheartedly to the task. He had no time for the pleasantries of the court, no interest in princesses, and found anyone who was interested in such things (such as his family) beneath his interest, and ignored them if he could, and humiliated them with his great intellect if they would not leave him alone.

One day, when he was a young man, he rode through the forest on his way to collect specimens for his studies. He’d set himself the task of creating an exhaustive list of the properties of the plants around the kingdom: which could be used to cure and which could be used to kill. That the apothecaries and healers of the kingdom praised his work and used it to heal many mattered little to him, as knowledge was what he valued most, not the results.

On his travels he met an old crone poaching rabbits for her supper. It did not matter to him that she was stealing from the King’s Wood, but it did matter that her trap line was across his path, and when she did not collect her rabbits and clear the path fast enough he berated her, using his cunning intellect to discover that when she had been a young girl she had been stupid enough to fall in love with an unworthy man and declaring he would never be so foolish as to fall in love himself.

The crone whirled on him, and spoke ancient words, there was a flash of light and a gust of wind, and his horse, normally a very steady and reliable beast, reared up and threw him to the ground, where he was rendered unconscious. Before he regained his senses he had a dream, and in the dream the crone cursed him, and said his ears must be too big if he knew so many secrets. Unless he found someone to love him, and loved them in return, he would forever be alone. The thought of this did not bother him in the slightest, as he preferred to be alone.

When he awoke, the crone was gone, as was his horse. He pushed himself to his feet, dusted himself off, and marched back to the castle in a terrible temper, prepared to viciously expose the secrets of every man, woman, or child he came across to assuage his mood. However, when he finally came across the first signs of civilization, he never had his chance. Before he could open his mouth to snap at them, they screamed and ran away, calling him ‘monster’. Some of the braver men in the village chased him with pitchforks, and he was forced to run all the way back to the castle, using a secret passageway to get in undetected lest the guards turn on him as well.

When he returned to his room, he went straight to his looking glass to see if he’d acquired a head injury in his fall that could account for the terrified villagers. There was none. However, growing out of the top of his head were a set of long, black rabbit ears, like the rabbits the crone had been catching in the King’s Wood. His face was like a rabbit’s as well, nose flattened, and front teeth much larger and extending over his bottom lip, and there was a fine dusting of black fur on his face to match his ears. But the ears, were the worst, and as much as he insisted such a transformation was impossible, the rabbit ears remained stubbornly on his head. He attempted to burn them off, cut them off, and pour acid on them. While the pain was excruciating and he screamed and cried, when he returned to the looking glass there wasn’t a mark on them and they were still attached to his head. He was forced to conclude the crone had been a witch and had used magic on him, something his logic had never been able to understand.

He ran to his parents to ask for their help, and they recoiled from him, but his older brother, the clever Crown Prince Mycroft, recognized that he’d been cursed and listened to his story. Mycroft sent out his best knights and offered a reward to any who could bring him the witch, but the witch was not to be found. He summoned his alchemists and healers and offered a reward to any who could break the curse, but none could. He summoned princesses to the kingdom, offering a reward to any that could kindle love within his brother, but every one left in tears after spending only a few minutes with Sherlock, who had grown even more short-tempered now that he’d been cursed.

The rewards stood, but fewer and fewer people came to make the attempt to help the prince, and so the royal family came to assume Sherlock would forever be stuck with his ears and rabbit face. The villagers did as well, and when there was a terrible drought the next year they blamed the Monster in the Castle, and no matter how Sherlock attempted to explain climatology and weather cycles, they would not stop calling for his blood. In order to save his brother’s life, Mycroft talked Sherlock into faking his own death to appease the villagers, and then locked him in the tallest and most isolated tower of the castle so he would not be seen again.

Sherlock wished he could go into the woods again, to study as he’d once done, but his brother ensured he was brought plenty of samples and specimens along with his meals and so he was happy enough to continue his work in his laboratory in the tallest tower.

In a distant land, there was a knight named John. He had heard of the rewards offered by Crown Prince Mycroft, but instead had gone to war to seek his fortune. He was a great soldier and a skilled healer and his comrades in arms found him invaluable. For the first time in his life he found great purpose in his life, and though he was beset by constant danger, he was happy. However, every great knight is at risk of falling to his foe, and John was no different. During a battle, an arrow slipped between the plates of his armour and imbedded itself deeply in his shoulder, and he passed out from the pain. His charger, a very clever horse, carried him dutifully back to camp and straight to the hands of the healers, who tended to him immediately. He did not die, but he could no longer hold a sword, and so he was no longer fit for the front and was sent home.

He returned to his tiny village, but his parents were dead and his sister had married and he had no desire to become a farmer. He was lonely, and had no friends and no purpose. He remembered the reward offered by Crown Prince Mycroft. Witches were certainly powerful, and catching them required cunning rather than a good sword arm, and should he die, or be turned into a toad, well, what loss was it to the world? He climbed upon his horse and rode to the cursed kingdom.

Along his ride he asked about the prince and was shocked to discover the prince was now dead. The witch had never been captured, however, so he continued on. Perhaps there would still be a reward for the capture of the witch who had lead to the death of the prince, and it was still an excellent test of his skill and courage. He found the reward was of less an attraction than the idea of proving his mettle once more.

At long last he came to the King’s Wood. He set his camp there and spent his days looking for the witch, but he could not find her. He met others in the wood from time to time, but never an old woman. One day, as he was walking through the wood, he thought he caught a glimpse of the old woman and gave chase. He pursued her at a sprint until he heard cries for help coming from the main road nearby. He had found the old woman once, and reasoned he could find her again, and so broke off the chase to follow the calls for help. At the main road he found a peasant girl hauling milk. The wheel of her cart was broken, and though one of his arms was useless and there might be others who came across her on the road to help eventually, he instantly went to help her. He apologized for his weak arm but did all he could and together the two of them repaired the wheel well enough for her to continue on her journey. By that time, the witch was long gone, so John returned to his camp and slept.

The next week, John caught sight of the witch again and gave chase, but this time he came across a pilgrim whose mule had gone lame. Again John broke off the chase to come to the man’s aid. He apologized for his injury, but together they were able to make a splint for the animal’s leg and John applied a poultice of forest herbs and the pilgrim was able to get his mule moving again. The witch was again long gone, so John returned to his camp.

The week after, once again he found himself in pursuit of the witch, and this time he had come so close that he could almost touch her cloak. But though he was inches away from her capture, a loud crash and cry was enough to bring him up short and send him running in another direction. This time, he found an old beggar man who had been trapped under a collapsed tree. John rushed to his aid and tried to move the tree to help the man, but it was no use, he could not do it with only one arm. He rushed to get his sword, (a gift from his father and made of the strongest steel) to attempt to use it as a lever, but the sword snapped in half. He took the rope he’d used to construct his woodland tent and tried to use it as a pulley to lever the tree off the beggar, but the rope snapped. Finally, he used the remainder of the rope to tie the tree to his great white charger and had the horse try to pull the tree off the man. This time the tree moved and the beggar was able to escape, but his charger, the creature he loved most in the world, dropped down dead, exhausted by the task.

John wept for his charger, but went to the man’s side to help heal him of any injuries he might have acquired. Once he approached, however, there was a flash of light and the beggar man transformed into a beautiful woman. The witch! John thought, and though he had no sword to threaten her with, no rope to bind her with, and no horse to bring her back to the castle, he stood firm and brave, waiting to be killed or transformed.

“Good Sir Knight,” said the witch, “you have proved your kindness and sacrifice, and so I will grant you three boons if you quit your pursuit of me.” She raised her wand and pointed it at the body of his horse, and the horse came back to life, but now sported magnificent silver wings on its back. She pointed her wand at his broken sword and it formed a silver crown which settled itself on his head, and his clothes suddenly became finery. And then she tucked her wand away.

“I will no longer pursue you, milady,” John said, for the witch had done him no harm, “and I apologize if I seem greedy, but you said three boons. What is the third?” Despite all the magic, he still felt the ache in his arm and wondered if she might fix him.

The witch smiled at him and said, “That which you seek is in the tallest tower of the castle,” and then she disappeared.

John blinked, but gathered himself and mounted his winged horse and rode from the forest to the castle. Once there, it was easy for his horse to fly to the top of the tallest tower and for him to climb inside.

Once inside there was no glittering chest of jewels or magic healing elixir, there was only a tall man hunched over a table in a cluttered little room. “Hello?” John called, tentatively, and the man whirled, surprised and frightened.

Only it was no man, it was a monster with a rabbit’s head! The monster glared at him, and hissed, and then shouted at him, “You are an old, injured soldier with no purpose in the world! Not even all that borrowed finery can cover that up. Your parents are dead and your sister has married and you have nothing and no one! Now get out!”

John took a step back in the face of the monster’s rage, but widened his eyes in surprise. “How did you know that? That was amazing!” he said, impressed.

The monster drew up short. “Do you think so?”

“Yes! Quite, quite extraordinary. Can you do it for anyone?”

The monster nodded and John was delighted and the two sat down in the monster’s workshop to discuss all that the monster could do. At the end of the evening, the monster said, “They will be bringing my dinner soon, and you cannot be here.”

John nodded and smiled and said, “Then I will return tomorrow after breakfast,” and went to the window to summon his horse and departed.

Prince Sherlock thought to himself that after all these years alone it was nice to have such company, but he assumed he would never be back.

However, the next morning, as Sherlock was finishing his tea, John returned as promised. Sherlock’s heart soared to see him in a way it never had before. Sherlock offered him tea, something he’d never done with anyone, and John accepted and they spent the day discussing Sherlock’s curse. He let John touch his ears, which no one had ever done before, and he was surprised how pleasant the sensation was. “They’re so soft!” John remarked. Sherlock tried to appear unaffected, and instead remarked on how excellent they were for hearing. Again, as night fell, Sherlock warned John that he couldn’t stay when they brought his supper, so John departed, promising he would be back the next day, and Sherlock was sad as he’d never been before at his departure.

The next morning, however, John returned. He was beaming as he stepped onto the window frame, so happy was he to have a friend at last. Sherlock thought no one had ever looked so handsome. They sat and had tea and this time they discussed John’s interaction with the witch. John could understand why he’d needed a flying horse to get to the tallest tower in the castle, but he could not understand the purpose of a silver crown. Sherlock went to pull a book off the shelf, a listing of all the royal families in the land, and flipped through it. Sure enough, John’s name was now indelibly marked in the book as the King of a small kingdom on the border, even though John had come from a poor farming family. “Why would she make me a King?!” John asked, alarmed. “I know nothing of running a country!”

“Because only royalty can marry royalty. Even monstrous royalty,” Sherlock said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

John was surprised at the feeling of fur against his face but kissed back, smiling, happy at long last to have finally found some purpose. He cared little for this kingdom he supposedly was in charge of, although he would do his duty to it’s people and make sure they were well taken care of. No, instead, he wished to see Sherlock every morning and talk to him every day, because there was no one so interesting in the entire world. There was a flash of light again, and when they pulled away from each other, blinking, Sherlock had his human face back, free of fur and buck teeth.

He was very handsome, with sharp cheekbones and pale skin, however it took John a moment to find his friend and true love in the new face. It was only when he looked up and saw that Sherlock still had his rabbit’s ears that he laughed and clutched him close. “You still have your ears!” John exclaimed, delighted, and reached up to pet them again.

Sherlock shivered at the sensation, tucking in close to John. “Well, obviously. As I’ve said, they’re very useful for hearing things. I’d be at a loss without them now,” and they laughed and kissed for the rest of the day.

This time, when Mycroft came to deliver Sherlock’s dinner, John stayed, and Mycroft was delighted to see the curse had finally (mostly) been broken and offered John his reward. John declined it, and asked for Sherlock’s hand in marriage instead, which Mycroft was happy to offer. The two soon married and flew on John’s charger to his little kingdom, where the people rejoiced the return of the Good King and his clever Rabbit Prince. King John ruled with fairness and kindness and Sherlock’s experiments brought health and happiness to his people, and they lived happily ever after for the rest of their long lives.


End file.
